Taboo Subject #1 Faithfully Submitted

I respect everyone’s beliefs.  I truly do.  I figure if there is a God, then all the different kinds of religion are just different roads to the same place.  My problem lies in that little phrase which has already pissed off probably half of the people reading this:  “if there is.”

See, what you don’t understand is that while you have chosen your road—applied for your mapquest route so to speak, I’m good with that.  I just don’t understand why I have to go the same way.

Some people want to take the expressway.  Some people want to take the toll roads.  Some want the scenic route.  Others want to get there fast and wait in their car for the doors to open up.  And others—let’s face it, you know it’s true—are on the wrong road, but they want to convince you they’re on the same road as you, when really, they’re on some bypass that was never really finished.

I’m good with what you believe.  I really feel no urgency to convince you that you’re wrong.  Hell (probably a poor choice of words), I agree that you may be right.  I’m ecstatic that you’re happy and all that jazz.  But really, what if I don’t particularly want a blessed day after I pay my credit card off—what if I want a hell of a party instead?

Religion has always fascinated me.  Because of a lot of things, I suppose.  Mostly because everyone says you shouldn’t talk about it—naturally that makes me want to talk about it.  But also because historically religion has been bent to make people do horrible things.  There’s not a single religion that I know of which doesn’t speak about harmony and peace.  Whether you worship God or the Sun or the trees or Mother Earth, it’s all supposed to be about creating a quiet place in your soul.  However, religion has dedicated itself to destruction throughout history:  the crusades, the holocaust, the 9/11 attacks—they all had a religious component.

I’m thinking about this today because it’s Sunday and because the Jehovah’s Witnesses just came to my door.  Honestly, I thought I scared them away last year and figured they’d put a big black X over my address and never return.  But they were there, smiling vacantly as my Rottweiler barked and growled and considered having them for lunch.  I answered the door eating a leftover piece of my birthday cake.  I see that as irony because from what I understand, the JWs don’t believe in celebrating birthdays.  Okay, right there is a reason I’m never going to join their ranks.  I mean, you can give up your birthday if you want, but I’m keeping mine.  I like being the center of attention for one day a year and if I could have more birthdays and guaranteed gifts I’d take them too.

Anyway, I shushed the hellhound and tried to be polite to them.  There was one guy and three women.  All in their late fifties, early sixties.  Dressed like the Amish; breaking it down like the Mormons.  They said they noticed my doors were open and I was home on a Sunday morning.  I thought about telling them I was an Orthodox Jew and therefore had to be home and not using any kind of power item, but the television was on and I knew they could see it.  I think it was a rerun of Rosemary’s Baby, but I can’t be sure.

I should also warn you—since I didn’t warn them—that I have a history of arguing about religion.  Mostly because it interests me intellectually.  I’m sure it probably contributed to the end of my marriage.  I really wasn’t prepared for my ex to come home one day and suddenly be “born again” and he wasn’t prepared to come home to find someone who could argue what he thought should be taken as faith.  I’m of the opinion that if someone tells you the lake is fluorescent pink today, you might want to check it out for yourself before you agree—and my ex was like that punk who’s standing there going “What?  You’re going to check?  You don’t believe me?  You need to believe me or you’re a bad person.”  He came home from church with some real opportunities for me to question his sanity.

I’ve missed those discussions.  (Insert evil laughter here, totally inappropriate, I know, but it’s there and I’m not going to deny it)

The Jehovah’s Witnesses stood in my breezeway, the wind tossing their hair around leaves dancing across the driveway behind them.  Their flyers clutched in their hands.  Benign, blank looks in their eyes.  “Sister, we’d like to give you our flyer.”  He held it out to me.

“You ever think about changing the name of it?” I asked.

He frowned.  The women behind him (yeah, that’s another thing I found kind of annoying) exchanged confused looks.

“Well, it’s called Watchtower,” I said.

He gave me a blank look.

“Charles Whitman?”

Still nothing.

“University of Texas?  The guy shot up a campus from a watchtower.  In fact, watchtowers are traditionally military fortifications.  You know, places to put gunners and snipers to pick off people before they can invade your fortress.”

“Well, that’s something you could learn more about if you joined—“

“But you believe that it was Satan’s arrogance and self-importance that got him thrown out of heaven and yet at the same time you believe that your religion is the only one that’s real and everyone else has fake religions.  It’s practically a perfect analogy; you’ve become what you claim to have overcome.  I’m not sure I can fully absorb that kind of hypocrisy.”

“Did you just call us hypocrats?” one of the women said.

I shook my head.  “No.  I’m just saying I’m having a hard time reconciling your words with your actions.  How will I ever be able to join you when I can’t understand your doctrine?”

“I don’t even understand what you’re saying,” another of the women said, copping an attitude.

I nodded at her.  “That might be a huge part of the problem.  Don’t you think you should understand what you’re preaching before you start preaching it?”

“I have my faith,” the woman said indignantly.

“But you can’t believe what you have faith in.  And if that’s the case, then you’re really no better than the brainwashed cult which people have claimed you were since your creation in the late 1800s.”

They were moving out of my breezeway into my driveway as I spoke.  That blank benign look was changing over to something close to panic.

“Perhaps you only escaped the political persecution because you’re a large cult rather than some small cult which can be bullied around easier.”

The third woman who’d been silent until now, pulled herself up, jutted her chest out and threw her shoulders back.  “The devil quotes scripture for his purpose.”

I rolled my eyes at her.  It was early in the morning otherwise I might have stopped myself from this.  “You do realize you aren’t quoting scripture to me, you’re quoting William Shakespeare, right?  I mean, I was an English major.”

“Let’s go,” the man said, turning away from me and ushering the woman away.  Before he left he grabbed his flyer back from me.

“I guess sheep come in all forms,” I said, loud enough for the compliant women to hear.  “Thanks for stopping by.  Please refrain from doing it again next year; there’s no guarantee I’ll be awake this early in the morning.”

They heard, because they made sure they had the last word.

Yeah, I know, this whole thing is pretty insulting if you’re a Jehovah’s Witness and I admit it was wrong of me.  I’ve really become rather sensitive about people telling me what I should do and how I should act when they don’t even come close to being the people they think they are.  Delusions are rampant among human beings who claim sanity.

For the last 30 years, I’ve listened to religious people tell me why they deserve to borrow money when they’ve never paid anyone back in their entire lives.  I’ve watched my ex get religious and spout about the “Book” while running up my credit cards with gambling debt, refusing to work, and smoking a joint.  I’ve watched people fly planes into skyscrapers, killing thousands while yelling “God is great!”   I’ve watched people kick other’s out of homes they’ve had for generations because they are unworthy of being close to the Holy Land; and then wonder why those now homeless people harbor a grudge.  I’ve seen the graves of those who were slaughtered like cattle just because they held one set of beliefs.

In the end the most religious people are those who never tell me about it; who understand that religion is a personal thing to take you where you want to go, not a  battering ram to get yourself what you want and to get people to look at you like you’re a good person.  So, drive your roads, people.  Be sure you pick one that makes you happy and gives you confidence, strength and support.  But, leave me alone; I’m still studying mapquests and I’m not even sure I want to meet up with a lot of the people who say they’re going to the end.  I’m certainly not all that keen about hanging out with a bunch of people who judge me and others and refuse to consider other options.  If there’s a God, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care what road anyone takes as long as it’s a good road without too many exit ramps.

I’m also pretty sure that if there is a God, he’s got a sense of humor.  I’m sure he’s laughing at the Jehovah’s Witnesses who ran off my driveway after cussing me out this morning.  And he’s looking around at his peeps and he’s saying, “Well, they’re not on my flippin’ list. DANG!”